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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29479305">Sweet Melodies and Snowfall</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mairyn/pseuds/Mairyn'>Mairyn</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Final Fantasy XIV</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Falling In Love, First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Starlight Celebration (Final Fantasy XIV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 22:35:07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,882</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29479305</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mairyn/pseuds/Mairyn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sanson's not Eorzea's biggest fan of Starlight. Guydelot's determined to make it a good one nonetheless.</p><p>Extremely late Starlight fic, unrepentant fluff.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sanson Smyth/Guydelot Thildonnet</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>46</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Sweet Melodies and Snowfall</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sanson Smyth didn’t <em> hate </em> Starlight, per se, but it most assuredly wasn’t his favorite of the holidays. It had its charms, of course: the lights, the carolers, the general aura of warmth and charity. But it was, at its core, a <em> social </em> holiday, to be spent in the company of friends and family, and Sanson, well. He wasn’t exactly blessed with a number of close connections. His single-minded devotion to becoming a captain at such a young age had devoured much of the time he might have otherwise spent carousing with his peers, and while he’d love nothing more than to spend the season in the company of his parents, each of them had long since passed on. No. Starlight, for Sanson at least, was a solitary season, and best spent with his head down and his mind otherwise occupied. He had no intention of ruining others’ fun, but he likewise had no plans to pursue his own.</p><p>Guydelot, on the other hand, was practically built for the season. His musical talents were sought after at venues throughout the Shroud, and he’d practiced and perfected a whole repertoire of Starlight tunes for a variety of occasions, many of which he liked to assail Sanson with at a moment’s notice. He made friends wherever he went, had men and women alike practically falling at his feet, and was the fifth and youngest child of a still-thriving family. The year prior he’d gone home for the season and came back with a dozen complaints about his damned gaggle of sisters and their insistence he settle down, but this year, he said, he’d be skipping the festivities to stay in Gridania. Needed a break, or some such.</p><p>Sanson would never admit it aloud, but he was grateful to know he’d have at least one companion nearby, in the event he decided to actually participate. Given the amount of additional work he’d offered to take on, however, the prospect was unlikely. If it was intentionally so, he couldn’t say.</p><p>It was Starlight Eve when Sanson’s office door unceremoniously swung upon without so much as a courtesy knock, and Guydelot stepped inside, carrying his harp and an expression that promised trouble. He blinked up at the bard incredulously, placing his quill back in the ink pot expectantly. Guydelot grinned.</p><p>“I thought I might find you here,” he said, as though it were some grand revelation. “No room for a bit of Starlight revelry when an excess of stuffy paperwork awaits, eh?”</p><p>“Hello to you, too,” Sanson muttered, bristling at the all-too-expected ribbing. “Is there something you needed?”</p><p>“Oh, nothing of import,” Guydelot said and dumped himself gracefully into the armchair sitting in the corner of the room--a favored spot, of late. He plucked a few sweet notes on his harp. “Whiling away the hours ‘til sunset.” Something resembling a chord resounded from a long brush of his fingers across the strings. “I’ve a performance at the Bobbing Cork tonight. You should come.”</p><p>Sanson’s pulse leapt a bit at the invitation, but the work in his ‘to be completed’ pile was twice the height of the work in his ‘completed’ pile. If he did a bit of rearranging he could likely manage to take the night off, but…</p><p>“I can see the wheels spinning,” Guydelot said, interrupting his reverie. He had one long leg hooked over the arm of the chair, as though no one had ever taught him how to properly sit. Though, admittedly, sitting was a strong word for the way he lounged like an overgrown housecat. “Suffer here if you like, but a bit of fun couldn’t hurt. It’s Starlight, after all.”</p><p>Sanson sighed and tried not to focus his eyes on the bookshelf behind Guydelot. Tucked behind the most droll looking tomes was the Starlight gift Sanson still hadn’t decided if he wanted to give him. (Were they at the gift-giving stage? Did Guydelot consider him that close of a friend?) He groaned, “I know it’s Starlight. But I have a lot of work to do and I’m not certain--”</p><p>“Only Sanson the Stiff would take on extra work over the holiday,” Guydelot lamented, tossing his head back dramatically. “Honestly, the Adders don’t know how good they’ve got it. Without you, the company would fall apart.”</p><p>Not true in the slightest, but Sanson appreciated the belief in his abilities nonetheless. “Do you really want me to attend so badly?”</p><p>Guydelot gave him a withering look. “No, I’ve come to harangue you simply for the fun of it.” Sanson couldn’t tell whether or not that was a joke, and opened his mouth to say as much, but the Elezen cut him off. “Of course I want you to come, you fool.”</p><p>The earnest way Guydelot spoke the words caused a flicker of delight to wash through Sanson, though one would be hard pressed to get him to admit it. His cheeks warmed ever so slightly and he mentally rearranged his work priorities.</p><p>“Oh fine,” he said, with false annoyance.</p><p>Guydelot sat up straighter in the armchair, seemingly stunned. A slow grin spread across his face. “Really?”</p><p>“Aye, really,” Sanson nodded. He threw up a halting finger between them before Guydelot could speak again. “On the condition that you let me get some work done this afternoon, unhindered.”</p><p>Guydelot strummed an exceptionally sour chord on his harp. “It’s a deal.”</p><p>Sanson smiled, trying not to look too flustered. “It’s a deal.”</p><hr/><p>As promised, Guydelot left him be for the remainder of the afternoon, and the odd nervous energy powering Sanson’s limbs helped him to finish more work than he’d planned for the day to begin with. By sunset only a thin pile of documents remained for review -- some training regiments and new recruit applications -- and when he stood and stretched, he was surprised to find he felt almost excited for the evening in store. It’d been awhile since he’d last taken some time to simply enjoy Guydelot’s music for what it was. </p><p><em> Of course I want you to come, you fool</em>.</p><p>It was only through absolute idiocy that such a simple sentence could send him reeling, but Guydelot tended to have that effect, whether it was intended or not. And it wasn’t. Definitely not. </p><p>Sanson made his way over to the shelf where he’d hidden Guydelot’s maybe-gift and pulled it out from behind the dusty tomes he hadn’t touched since he’d finished his captains’ studies. He paged through the weathered sheet music delicately.</p><p>It was a collection of works written by an old bard in Dravania -- never widely performed, at least as far as Sanson knew, but beautiful in their composition. They’d be a blessing to hear plucked on a harp by Guydelot, his tenor the perfect match to the wistful lyrics which accompanied the music. Doubtless the bard would love the gift. The only problem with it was, all the songs were decidedly love songs, which left ample room for misinterpretation. Or, well. Correct interpretation, at least on Sanson’s part. But he had no intention of disclosing his unreciprocated feelings any time soon, or perhaps ever. He had little interest in being laughed all the way to Othard. </p><p>Sanson hummed one of the more charming ditties to himself, going a bit pink at the idea of Guydelot singing the song. Gods, he was a fool. Surely he could come up with something less potentially volatile for a gift instead. Why not food? Food was perfectly innocuous.</p><p>The door behind him began to open and Sanson nearly dove in an attempt to slip the sheet music back into its hiding spot. It slotted neatly out of sight behind the books, and Sanson swallowed any indication of wrongdoing as he turned around to face his visitor. It was Guydelot, of course, harp and bow strapped to his back. The ride to North Shroud was a relatively brief one, but the chance of fiends or bandits along the way was never zero.</p><p>“Finished with whatever droll scribbling was required of you?” Guydelot asked. He was wearing a sprig of mistletoe tucked behind his ear. In the spirit of the season, Sanson supposed.</p><p>He pulled a face. “Yes, it becomes rather easy to finish your work when there are no bards strumming sour notes in your ears.”</p><p>Guydelot laughed. “I’ll keep to sweet ones in the future, then. Only the best for our dear Captain.”</p><p>Sanson huffed but grabbed his winter coat from where he’d left it slung over the chair facing his desk and shrugged it on. Guydelot watched him, and when he’d finished, swept an arm towards the door. “Shall we?”</p><p>On Chocobos, the ride to the North Shroud took just under half a bell. It was largely uneventful, the chattering of travelers headed for Gridania and the naked branches swinging overhead the only real noise to accompany their trek, but it wasn’t altogether unpleasant. The frigid winter air felt good against Sanson’s skin, and the twinkling of decorations through Old Gridania were a pretty sight to behold. Starlight wasn’t all bad, he thought. In a different life, he might’ve even enjoyed it.</p><p>Roundabouts the Gelmorran Ruins there was a treant blocking their path, but two clean shots from Guydelot’s bow felled the beast without much fanfare. Sanson hadn’t so much as needed to touch his spear, which was something of a rare treat. The bard had become stronger in recent days, having trained a bit more stringently following their stay in Castrum Oriens and all the havoc Nourval wrought. Sanson bristled with guilt at the thought. Being captured was unlike him, and seeing the unbridled concern writ across Guydelot’s face when he’d at long last breached Nourval’s hideout wasn’t an easy image to forget.</p><p>“What do you plan to perform?” Sanson asked as Fallgourd Float proper began to come into view. It was largely a foolish question, but better than continuing to stew in silence with his thoughts. He could do with <em> some </em>chatter, at the very least.</p><p>“What else?” Guydelot asked, and smiled into the frigid night, “‘Tis the season of Starlight tunes, Sanson, and little else. Though I may have snuck in one or two more universal ditties, for your sake.”</p><p>Sanson huffed self-consciously. “There was no need to do that just for me. Not everyone is so soured on Starlight.”</p><p>Guydelot seemed to quietly scrutinize him for a moment, and Sanson felt himself shrink a bit under the elezen’s gaze. Eventually he asked, “Why <em> do </em> you treat this holiday like you woke up one Starlight morning to find a box of shite beneath the tree? You never explained.”</p><p>Sanson crinkled his nose at the crude simile, but didn’t protest it. For the most part, he did tend to act in that sort of manner. “It never was a holiday well spent alone,” he confessed after some time. “My parents passed when I was twelve and ever since, I simply prefer to ignore it, where possible.”</p><p>He peered at Guydelot beside him and felt immediately guilty. The man seemed sheepish at his admission. “You never said,” he eventually confessed. “Sorry to hear it.”</p><p>Sanson shrugged. “Nearly ten years now; what’s done is done.”</p><p>The icy branches rustled overhead as they passed through the gates and into Fallgourd Float, stopping at the stable to house their chocobos for the evening. Towards the back of the stable, a familiar white chocobo pecked at its Gysahl Greens. Sanson nudged Guydelot. “Is that Nerienne’s chocobo?”</p><p>“Aye, I invited her,” he said, as though the Warrior of Light attending his Starlight performance wasn’t remarkable in the least, “Ran into her at the markets, she was in town for the holiday.”</p><p>Though they’d traveled with the Warrior of Light twice now, Sanson was no less amazed at her continued camaraderie with Guydelot. At a glance the two were different as could be, but she’d taken to him as a favored confidant in the days since they’d first traveled Coerthas together. Her visits were rare, but whenever she was in Gridania, she sought out Guydelot to play music and gossip as only bards could. </p><p>“She’s taken a new lover,” Guydelot fake-whispered as they made their way to the Bobbing Cork. Lights twinkled overhead and a snowman or two decorated the path. A small gaggle of children were chasing each other around the fountain at the center of the village. “A hyur again, as ever.” As if as an afterthought he added, “Another interest we share.”</p><p>Sanson thought little of the aside in the moment, not particularly interested in Nerienne’s latest romantic pursuit, but after a minute or two his face flooded crimson with the dawning realization. Guydelot was teasing him, of course. He hadn’t meant it that way. He’d been known to charm men and women of every shape and size across Eorzea. That he had a preference for hyur meant little in the grand scheme of things.</p><p>His eyes flickered over to the elezen nonetheless, and he became even more embarrassed when he realized the man was watching him, intently. He pointedly avoided the conversation, but his heart thundered a bit more rapidly nonetheless.</p><p>The noise inside the Bobbing Cork was the first thing Sanson noticed as they crossed the bridge. Inside the open doors he could see dozens more patrons than the location was likely used to, perhaps as a product of the season. After looking just a bit harder he spotted Nerienne standing alone by the doors with a drink in her hand, her natural elezen height making her easy to spot amidst the many miqo’te and hyur surrounding her. She waved at them elegantly and Sanson smiled in return. The mournful sound of a violin poured out the doors. Not exactly the most festive music.</p><p>“It’s good to see you again,” Sanson said when they joined Nerienne at the doors.</p><p>The Warrior of Light smiled, and reached out to pat Guydelot on the shoulder. “I couldn’t miss another of Guydelot’s performances. Besides, word on the street is he’ll be playing something particularly special this evening.”</p><p>Sanson looked up at Guydelot, questioning, but the bard simply shrugged. “Who’s to say?”</p><p>Nerienne waggled her brows once, knowingly, but changed the topic quickly. “Would you like to sit together, Sanson? I’ve another friend saving a place for me near the stage.”</p><p>“That would be wonderful, thank you,” Sanson said, and smiled. </p><p>The three of them made a bit more idle chatter while the violinist within finished up their songs, and when the time came for Guydelot to perform, he politely excused himself and headed for the stage. Nerienne gently directed Sanson to the table she’d promised, and Sanson was relieved to see it wasn’t front-and-center, but rather one or two tables back from the very front. He always felt a bit exposed when watching Guydelot perform, though he couldn’t say why. Blending into the shadows a bit was a blessing in this case.</p><p>Nerienne’s friend, a Roegadyn woman named Silver Lake, welcomed them both with a toast of her mug of ale. She was very pretty, Sanson thought, with long white hair and grey eyes. He wondered how she and Nerienne had met, but truth be told, Nerienne likely knew half the population of Eorzea by now, so well travelled was she. The two of them took a seat and the words Nerienne exchanged with Silver were drowned out by the noise of the crowd surrounding them.</p><p>Guydelot took the stage a few moments later, to the tune of cheers and applause. By now he was well-known across the Shroud. His audience went silent as he began to strum a familiar Starlight tune, accompanied quickly by his clear tenor, and then several people got up and moved to the dance floor. Nerienne smiled.</p><p>“That’s more like it,” she said. She turned to face Sanson. “I’m glad you decided to come along. Guydelot was afraid he wouldn’t be able to pull you away from your work.”</p><p>Sanson rubbed the back of his neck, a bit embarrassed. “He has a way about him that makes it difficult to say no.”</p><p>“You don’t say?” Nerienne teased.</p><p>The waitress blessedly arrived then, supplying them both with their pints, which Sanson eagerly used to hide his rapidly warming cheeks. What was it about today that so desperately wished to test him? It felt as though a taunt at the expense of his feelings lay around every corner. Did everyone already know? Had he been that obvious?</p><p>Guydelot played a couple more songs and eventually a Duskwight man asked Nerienne to dance. Never one to deny a request, she went with him, and Sanson watched as the two of them twirled and spun to the music as only Ishgardians trained in the classical dances could. Guydelot was putting on a spectacular show, and the general air of merriment reflected it well.</p><p>Sanson took his brief respite from the Warrior’s presence to focus on Guydelot’s face and voice, and was surprised to find the man staring back at him, as if singing to him directly. The song he played was one of the few non-Starlight tunes he’d promised, but was upbeat all the same. A charming tale of two adventurers who’d gotten off to a bad start, but became friends along the way. The parallel to their own relationship didn’t go unnoticed. Guydelot’s way of ribbing while still keeping his audience entertained, he supposed. He playfully rolled his eyes and toasted as Guydelot set into the final chorus, grinning through the tune.</p><p>Bloody bards. But it wasn’t a bad night, Sanson decided. Not a bad night at all.</p><hr/><p>It was only when the set finished and Guydelot took his final bows that Sanson recalled Nerienne’s teasing words outside the Cork. <em> Word on the street is he’ll be playing something particularly special this evening</em>. None of the songs Guydelot played had been new, so far as Sanson was aware. He’d heard them all at least once. So what was Nerienne on about? He watched as the elezen dipped low one final time and stepped off the stage, making a beeline for Nerienne and himself and taking a seat in the lone empty chair across from them. A Lalafellan man came up to Guydelot to congratulate him on his performance, and Guydelot graciously thanked him.</p><p>“That seemed to liven things up a bit, at least,” Guydelot said as another bard took up his place on the stage, lute in tow. Soon she began singing in a clear alto, <em> I’ve been many places, I’ve travelled round the bough… </em> Within moments people were singing along and dancing as eagerly as they’d been during Guydelot’s performance. “With any luck that shite violinist won’t be showing his face again any time soon.”</p><p>“Every bard has to start somewhere,” Sanson reminded him, prickling a bit. “Or so you’ve reminded me time and again.”</p><p>“Aye,” Guydelot agreed, “But there does come a time when you’ve put asleep one too many taverns to be forgiven.”</p><p>Fair enough, Sanson supposed. Under Guydelot’s guidance over the past year, he’d become proficient at the harp, but hadn’t yet dared to perform for an audience. Someday, perhaps, but no time soon. Guydelot still frequently had to correct his hand posturing: long, beautiful fingers grabbing his own and resituating them against the strings. A flicker of embarrassment burned bright in his stomach. Gods, he was gone.</p><p>“I was promised a new tune,” Nerienne frowned after a short silence, “What happened?”</p><p>Guydelot waved a hand, betraying nothing with his expression. “I go where the music takes me, Nery dear. It wasn’t the right time.”</p><p>“Oh aye,” she teased, “I’m certain.”</p><p>Sanson sat back and felt as though he’d missed out on some key joke, and perhaps he had, but figured it was best if he didn’t ask after it. Nerienne ribbed Guydelot a bit more before letting the matter drop, and they hung around for another song or two, but as the majority of the patrons began to filter out, they followed suit. The three of them returned to the stable and collected their chocobos, and made the ride back to Gridania to the tune of Nerienne and Guydelot singing some bawdy shanty unfit for the ears of children.</p><p>A gentle snow began to fall over Gridania during the final leg of their journey, fat white flakes drifting down from the pale grey sky. Sanson reached up and caught one in the palm of his glove, watching it melt slowly. He turned to look at Guydelot, who was watching him with too-gentle eyes. The look stirred something in Sanson’s stomach that made him feel a bit dizzy. He smiled in return.</p><p>Perhaps he’d give him the gift after all, and damn the consequences.</p><p>“You two don’t get into too much trouble,” Nerienne gently chastised them when at last they reached the Adder’s Nest. She’d gotten a room at Caroline Canopy for the holiday and had a short way to travel yet. “Next time I see you, I want it to be under equally pleasant circumstances.”</p><p>Guydelot and Sanson bid her a fond farewell, and then they were both left at the Adders’ stable alone, and all went still. They stabled their birds and stood together under the canopy of night, neither ready to say goodnight just yet. They watched the snow lazily drift down outside for a moment, until at last the anxious energy of their silence became too much for Sanson to bear.</p><p>“What was the tune?” Sanson asked, grasping at straws. “The one you didn’t play?”</p><p>Guydelot sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, letting his disappointment show for the first time that evening. “It was meant to be a gift--a secret one, mind you--but Nerienne spoiled it.” Sanson wondered if he should ask who the gift was for, but Guydelot continued to speak before he could make a decision. “It was for you, if you were curious. I wanted to,” and suddenly Guydelot, the bard who always seemed entirely too calm, sounded nervous. Sanson felt a little nervous himself. “I thought it might brighten your Starlight, since you seemed so determined to have a miserable one.”</p><p>Touched beyond words by the sentiment alone, Sanson opened and closed his mouth twice before managing to find the words to respond. “I-- Can I hear it?”</p><p>“I--” Guydelot rubbed the back of his head and honest-to-Gods flushed crimson, seemingly caught off guard. “I suppose so, although--”</p><p>They both turned their gaze to the rapidly accumulating snowfall. Sanson could feel in his bones that they were resting on the cusp of something important. Guydelot had written him a <em> song </em>. A real, actual song, presumably with words that he could spend the next ten-day picking apart, analyzing and re-analyzing until he was blue in the face. He had to hear it, and wouldn’t be able to rest well until he had.</p><p>“You can stay with me,” Sanson offered with certainty, “Since there’s snowfall. And you can play me your song.”</p><p>“Aye,” Guydelot said after a short silence, and hovered a bit awkwardly, “Alright.”</p><p>Sanson made Guydelot sit still a moment while he rushed to his office to retrieve the sheet music, stuffing it into his satchel before he could question his choice. When he returned, the bard was seated a bit awkwardly on a fence post, humming quietly to himself. He stopped as soon as he noticed Sanson. “Got what you needed?” Sanson nodded. “Let’s go, then. My arse is just about frozen solid.”</p><p>They reached Sanson’s tiny apartment in the barracks after only a handful of minutes, the entire building quiet with the absence of its typical occupants. Those who weren’t visiting family were undoubtedly still out enjoying the night. Everything was still and dark. Sanson went around and carefully lit the sconces while Guydelot set about prodding the wood stove back to life. Within ten minutes they’d established a cozy atmosphere which might suggest romance, were it anyone else sitting on Sanson’s sofa. He shrugged out of his heavy coat and hung it up in his closet.</p><p>“What did you go back for?” Guydelot asked, sitting stiffly. It was a sharp contrast to the way he’d lounged earlier. Something was wrong.</p><p>“You said you wrote me a song, so,” Sanson scrubbed a spot of dirt from the floor with the toe of his boot. “I found something you might like, awhile back. It’s nothing really, but I thought it would be a nice trade.”</p><p>“Ever beating me to the punch,” Guydelot said, and seemed to release a bit of the stiffness holding him so rigidly at the end of the sofa. He smiled warmly. “Can I see it?” Sanson nodded and retrieved the sheet music from his satchel, holding the weathered collection out for the bard to take from his hands. Guydelot took the songs from him carefully and paged through. “It’s… music.”</p><p>Sanson sat down beside Guydelot on the sofa, leaving a short distance between them. “It’s nothing special really, just some songs that I thought you might--”</p><p>Guydelot began to hum one of the tunes to himself quietly, eyes trained on the notes. Sanson felt his hands go clammy. He watched him read in the firelight, blue eyes sparkling in the flames, long fingers turning through the pages slowly, one by one. Gods, he was beautiful.</p><p>“It’s perfect, Sanson,” Guydelot said when he’d finished paging through. His smile betrayed his genuine pleasure, and Sanson relaxed a bit. “Thank you.”</p><p>No mention of the nature of the music at all. Perhaps he’d been overthinking it.</p><p>“You’re welcome,” he said, and shyly added, “Happy Starlight.”</p><p>Guydelot agreed. “Happy Starlight.”</p><p>Sanson watched as Guydelot paged through the music a bit more, until eventually the bard grabbed his harp and began tuning the strings. He paused with bated breath, uncertain what to do. He wanted to hear the song, but at the same time, some needling thing reminded him that he couldn’t unhear it once he had. Something between them would like as not change in mere moments, and Sanson feared he wasn’t ready.</p><p>“When that bastard Nourval took you,” Guydelot began, “I came to a realization or two while we were tracking him down.” His fingers swept across the strings, and his ears must’ve caught something off in the sound, as he began turning the keys again. His eyes were steadfastly glued to his harp, his cheeks warmed a bit, though from the fire in the stove or embarrassment Sanson couldn’t be certain. “I know we ain’t always been on the best of terms, but it seems we’ve managed to put most of our grievances behind us. So I,” another strum, and this one seemed to satisfy Guydelot well enough, “I started writing this then, when the pieces started falling together.”</p><p>So this was a love confession after all. Sanson’s heart thudded still faster in his chest, and he wiped his clammy hands against his trousers. He wasn’t certain what to do with reciprocation. He hadn’t been ready for this. Not one bit. But the tingle of excitement in his stomach wasn’t a lie. If nothing else, that was something to cling to.</p><p>Guydelot’s fingers began picking a delicate tune, sweet and mournful. Sanson tried to still his whirling mind enough to focus on the sound of it, and soon enough was lost when Guydelot’s beautiful voice joined the fray, gently humming the beginnings of the vocals. The tale was about two men, separated by war. As the fires waged on, the bard left behind grew ever more weary and desperate for his companion’s return, but each day for a hundred days, the path remained empty and the soldier never appeared. With each passing verse the man grew more and more beguiled with the man he thought his companion to be, more and more charmed by the twinkle of blue eyes and his ink-stained fingers. When at long last the soldier did come marching down the path, returning home from battle, the bard is unsurprised to find he’s better still than even memories had granted, beautiful in his imperfections.</p><p>As the song wore on, Sanson’s chest grew tighter and tighter, like to burst. He hadn’t expected to be so moved, so utterly lost to the sound of Guydelot’s words and music, but bards carried magic of their own, and he was smitten beyond imagination. When the last of the melody had faded to silence, Guydelot breathed a soft sigh of relief, and raised his eyes to meet Sanson’s.</p><p>“So?” he asked, quiet and careful, and so unlike himself, “What do you say?”</p><p>If they were acting unlike themselves, then two, Sanson supposed, could play at that game. He scooted forward and brought their lips together in answer, kissing Guydelot gently but insistently. The bard froze a moment, harp still in hand between them, surprised by the gesture, but when Sanson pulled away and smiled at him quietly, Guydelot placed his harp aside and drew them together once again. They exchanged some dozen kisses, sweet and gentle, testing the waters carefully so carefully, before at last Guydelot pulled back and brushed the backs of his knuckles along Sanson’s cheek.</p><p>“Not another Starlight spent alone, Sanson Smyth,” he said.</p><p>“Aye,” Sanson agreed, resting his cheek in Guydelot’s palm, “Not one more.”</p>
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